rand paul, paul ryan announce new housing plan for homeless veterans

Above: Artist's rendering of the
Ryan-Rand Open Casket Act 

rand paul, paul ryan announce new housing plan for homeless veterans -dead rodent typing

Senator Rand Paul and Representative Paul Ryan have announced a their sponsorship of a bill that would provide additional housing for homeless veterans. Informally known as the "Open Casket Act", the bill would provide a shelter for every veteran for every veteran to live in, or at the very least sleep in, till she or he is dead.

Above: Congressmen Rand Paul,
Paul Ryan, and some other douche.

Said Paul Ryan, "It's the best of compassionate conservatism: Fiscally sound, use of highly efficient private sector contractors, and best of all we keep the coffin--er, home--and save it for the next war. If the families really love their veterans, they will understand that plastic wrap or an old bed-sheet is just as good. They all rot eventually. Did I mention that I have negative 5% ibody fat and that I've won the Mount Everest Marathon three times? Yes, I am amazing, golly gosh jiminy whillikers!"

Senator Paul chimed in: "It's true, I was there and saw all three wins. Pinned the medal on him myself right at the top of Kilimanjaro."

"Everest!", hissed Mr. Ryan.

Above: Site of Mt. Everest Marathon which
Rep. Ryan has won thrice-fold.

"Right, that one that he said," added the esteemed senator, who then searched the skies overhead, in fear of what he termed an 'Obamastrike'. "Our deaths will come from the sky!", he then proclaimed, gesticulating wildly. "Bring prosperity back to America! Reinstate the Gold Standard Act of 1834 and we shall reinstate the prosperity of 1835!" Men in crisp white linen uniforms then leapt upon the stage , their slacks blazing like the sun of a thousand bright summer dawns over Southampton, each dawn reflected in the green ripples a million times, so it was sort of like a thousand million dawns, although this writer has vastly exaggerated the brightness for rhetorical effect.

As Mr. Paul and Mr. Ryan were chased away by the men in white, they were followed by a large horde of women dressed only in brassieres and knickers (as they say in London, yes I was in London once about 1925, a cold, gray place of ash and soot, with natives who spoke my tongue, and yet it was not, and the occasional glint of the sun upon the river was cause for celebration but oh I do digress). In the distance, I was certain that that I heard the harsh tones of a saxophone playing a novelty tune, perhaps from a nearby lawn party, or perhaps it was a ghost, lost between here and the afterworld, looking for one of the long-gone rituals of laughter and chatter and bootleg there by sea, where Mr. Gatsby found himself going in reverse, receding into the past, because the clutch was broken and the car was stuck in 'R'. And that, my friends, that is America. A fancy car with a broken clutch.

Okay, are we done here? Did I resolve that image to your satisfaction? No?
Well piss off or buy 5000 of my books, this page is ad-free you know!!!!